Swift Voyages
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Oneshot songfictions inspired by Taylor Swift. 19. "Red": Tag to "Unimatrix Zero". Seven of Nine never forgot her favorite color ... or her first love.
1. Innocent

Innocent

By Laura Schiller

Based on Star Trek: Voyager

Copyright: Paramount

_It's all right, just wait and see._

_Your string of lights is still bright to me._

_Who you are is not where you've been:_

_you're still an innocent._

_It's okay, life is a tough crowd;_

_thirty-two and still growing up now._

_Who you are is not what you did:_

_you're still an innocent._

- Taylor Swift, "Innocent"

"I'd stay away from him if I were you," said Neelix.

Kes, who had been watching a blond Human in the mess hall with cautious concern, looked over her shoulder to meet the Talaxian's eyes.

"Why?" she asked.

"That's Tom Paris." The Talaxian wrinkled his slitted nose as if at a bad smell. "He's a criminal. The Captain had to get him out of prison for the mission; she wouldn't have done it if it weren't for his piloting skills."

Kes took another look. Tom Paris, almost indistinguishable from the other Starfleet officers in his red and black uniform at first glance, was the only one sitting alone. He was absorbed in his yellow drink, shoulders slumped. He had chosen a seat right next to a viewport, so he could watch the white streaks of stars warping away, but he wasn't looking at them.

"He doesn't look so dangerous to me," Kes commented. "What did he do?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to." Neelix nodded to her decisively, turned his back, and began stirring a bubbling pot of something viscous and orange. Kes sighed; that was the difference between them. He was a good man, but had less sense of adventure than it took to fill one of those pots. As for her, being warned _not_ to do something often had the strange effect of making her want to do it.

Kes smoothed her blue sweater, walked straight over to the criminal and pulled up the chair opposite him.

"May I sit?"

Paris looked up and smiled. It was a brilliant smile, transforming his entire face. If he was so glad of company, why had he been sitting alone?

"Yeah, sure! You're welcome. Ah … you're Ocampa, aren't you? What's your name?"

"I'm Kes."

"Pleased to meet you, Kes. Is that your whole name or are you hiding the rest of it?"

He flashed that smile again, making her grin in response.

"It _is_ my whole name, actually. And you, Tom Paris, er… what's your rank again? I can't really tell those metal things apart yet." She gestured towards her own collar to indicate his pips.

"Oh. Er, Lieutenant. But my friends call me Tom."

He held out his right hand across the table. She stared at it, not knowing what to do. Turning slightly pink, Tom reached for her own right hand, squeezed her fingers gently, and let go.

"Uh, it's a greeting," he explained, taking a sip of his drink without meeting her eyes. "It's called a handshake. Humans do it when they're introduced to someone new."

Kes looked down at her small hand. She could still feel the warmth of the stranger's touch.

"Interesting," she said. Humans seemed to be like the Talaxians in that respect, if a little more restrained. Neelix had hugged her on first meeting.

"So … Tom?"

"Yes?"

"May I ask you a personal question?"

Tom's eyebrows shot up. "You don't beat around the bush, do you? You can ask, but I don't promise to answer."

His blue eyes, which had been like open windows a moment earlier, seemed to have their curtains drawn.

"How did you get into prison?"

He dropped his eyes, sighed, and swirled his drink around. She watched the ripples of liquid moving through the glass between his hands.

"Y'know, it's no secret," he said drily, "You can ask anyone on this ship. They'd tell you more than you want to know."

Kes's mother could have told him that telling this girl more than she wanted to know was impossible. She leaned forward.

"I'd like to hear your side of the story, please. If we're going to be friends, as you say, you should know that my worst flaw is curiosity."

"Huh." Tom shook his head. "Wow. What is it with this ship? A few weeks ago, this little Korean Ensign was telling me the same thing. And here I thought the trip was gonna be lonely." Looking half pleased and half embarrassed, he leaned back in his chair and told the story.

He had made a piloting error which accidentally caused the deaths of his three shipmates, then covered it up. Later, tormented by his conscience, he had confessed the lie and been expelled from Starfleet. Having nowhere else to go, he'd joined the Maquis, been caught on his first mission, and sentenced to a penal colony in New Zealand.

"So I basically screwed up my life," he wound up, with a too-casual shrug. "And that's the truth. I won't be pitied, and I won't be judged. You're awfully quiet, Miss Kes. Don't tell me I shocked you?"

Kes _was_ a little shocked, but not very much. She did pity him, but instead of showing it, she tried her best to keep a straight face.

"Ah," she said. "I see. Well … that's not so bad, now is it?"

It was Tom's turn to be shocked. "What? Hey, you're sitting across from a jailbird. If it weren't for the Captain and some damn good luck, I could be sitting behind a forcefield right now."

"I got that. But considering your reputation, I was half expecting murder. You made a mistake, that's all. Everyone does that."

"Hmph. Most people's mistakes don't end up with three people dead and your father disowning you."

Disowned … Kes tried to imagine it. Ocampa families were very close. Since their enforced exodus to the underground city, cut off from the sunlight and living on the Caretaker's rations, her people's fertility rate had been declining until single births, once a rare anomaly, had become the norm. This led Ocampa parents to cherish their children even more, sometimes becoming downright overprotective. This was the very reason Kes had escaped to the surface. It was hard to picture a father disowning his son.

"Did you try to contact him afterwards?"

"No!" Tom scoffed. "Why would I?"

"Because he might have changed his mind."

"Paris men don't change their minds." Tom tossed back the last of his drink, excused himself, and headed for the replicator. Not wanting to end the conversation, Kes followed.

"In any case," she saiod, "I think it was very brave of you to confess."

Tom turned on his heel, wearing a look of utter astonishment. "Really? You think so?"

She nodded and smiled up at him tentatively. "Yes. And look - here you are, with a whole blank slate to start over with. I have a feeling it's going to be an interesting journey for all of us."

"With you around," said Tom, turning up the charm in his blue eyes again as he guided her toward the replicator with a touch on her arm, "I'm sure it will."

"May I try a glass of – whatever that was? I'll use my own rations." She took the chip out of her pocket and held it up. Tom waved the offer away.

"I'll pay. I'm old-fashioned that way. But are you sure it's a beer you want? They're made with synthehol, you know. That's an acquired taste even for us Humans, and it makes you kinda … " He waved his hands near his head to indicate confusion or intoxication.

Kes shrugged. "I'll risk it."

"I like the way you think." He winked at her, then addressed the replicator. "Two Budweisers. You're probably way underage," turning back to Kes, "But it's not like you'll get arrested in the Delta Quadrant."

"Underage?"

"Yeah. Back on Earth, there's an age limit for drinking this stuff. You're only about one year old, aren't you?"

"One year and three months," she said defensively, drawing her small form up a little straighter. "I'm a legal adult, for your information. How old are you, Tom?"

"Twenty-six, why?"

Kes burst out laughing. Twenty-six! That was like a senior Ocampa telling his grandchild he personally remembered the Surface Years.

"No, seriously, how old are you? Two? Two and a half?"

Tom joined her laughter, but sobered up very quickly as they sat back down at the same table.

"Kes … I think you're forgetting something. We're from very different species – _really_ different. The Human lifespan is a lot longer than yours. It's a hundred years, a hundred and twenty if you're lucky. Some of the Alpha Quadrant species live even longer."

Kes dropped into her seat harder than she had intended, surprise making her knees give way. Beer spilled over her fingers, foaming and fizzing on her skin. She saw it reflect the light.

"A _hundred years_?"

Tom nodded.

"Seriously?"

"You betcha."

A hundred years. That was … she calculated in her head … eleven Ocampan lives.

"So you really are … twenty-six years old."

Tom spread his hands in a universal gesture of demonstration – 'here I am, what you see is what you get'. "Twenty-six and still growing up. Amazing, eh?"

"Amazing … "

Kes felt awed and alive, from the roots of her hair o the tips of her toes. She was on a ship of wonders – sights, sounds and sensations none of her people had ever experienced before. A ship of aliens who lived for centuries, who made it their life's goal to explore the unknown, who took strangers to their hearts. A ship piloted by a man who was a bundle of contradictions, older than her great-grandfather but as young at heart as she was; with a criminal reputation and eyes as innocent as hers.

He held up his glass of beer. "Clink them together, like this. It's called a toast. To new friends."

"To new friends," she echoed, and the chime of glass rang through the room.


	2. Mine

Mine

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Star Trek Voyager

Copyright: Paramount

_Do you remember how we felt sitting by the water?_

_You put your arm around me for the first time._

_You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter – _

_You are the best thing that's ever been mine._

- Taylor Swift, "Mine"

Even after years together, sometimes it was still rather incredible.

Tom and B'Elanna on the couch, sharing popcorn and watching four-hundred-year-old cartoons, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder. The sheer quiet joy of it, after a lifetime of fighting against everyone and everything. including herself. Not that she and Tom never fought, of course – that was inevitable given their combined stubbornness and temper – but that was part of the miracle. No matter how often she pushed him away, he kept coming back. And vice versa.

She remembered the time she had first told him she loved him; floating in space, of all things, with only a few seconds of oxygen left. Holding each other in their EVA suits. A downright dreadful moment from any perspective, especially considering they were about to die. And yet one of the most treasured memories of her life.

Their first "shut up" kiss in the turbolift. Their first night making love. The time she had rescued him from Alice. Their impulse wedding in flight suits and subsequent honeymoon in the _Delta Flyer._ And of course, the many nights like this – just talking, or sparring in the holodeck, or watching those cartoons.

B'Elanna had always found it hard to believe in the concept of happy couples after her father's departure. Marriage was such a tricky engine, one wrong move could blow out the warp core. And here she'd gone and entered that very institution herself. With one key difference, however. She had the best co-pilot a woman could ask for.

"What are you thinking, Lanna?" asked Tom, smiling affectionately down at her. "You're smirking. Didn't know you liked Bugs Bunny that much."

"Oh, I'm just thinking you're not so bad as a husband. If I weren't worried about giving you a swelled head, I'd say you're the best."

"Oh, I knew I would be." He puffed himself up; she swatted him on the arm, very gently, so as not to leave a bruise. "But," he kissed the top of her head, his warm breath stirring her hair. "I do like to hear you say it."


	3. The Story of Us

The Story of Us

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Star Trek Voyager

Copyright: Paramount

"_Now we're standing alone in a crowded room and we're not speaking_

_and I'm dying to know: Is it killing you like it's killing me?_

_I don't know what to say since a twist of fate when it all broke down_

_and the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now."_

- Taylor Swift, "The Story of Us"

Captain Kathryn Janeway watched from a corner, a glass of syntheholic wine in one hand. Normally she had no problem with parties; she could mix and mingle with the best of them, dispensing just enough witty words and crooked smiles that everyone believed she was having as much fun as they were. Tonight, however – at _Voyager_'s first annual reunion party after returning to Earth – all she wanted was a little peace and quiet.

Chakotay stood across the room, looking warm and comfortable in his brown corduroy jacket. His arm was linked with Seven's; she wore a light lavender sweater and a long black skirt, and her blond hair was down. A small but genuine smile was on the younger woman's face; they were at the center of a conversation-knot including Tom, B'Elanna, Icheb and Sam Wildman. Kathryn couldn't help but note that her place and Seven's seemed to have been reversed; five years ago, it would have been herself on Chakotay's arm.

She didn't grudge Seven that place. Certainly not. At least, she didn't mean to.

Chakotay caught her eyes. Five years ago, he would have smiled and she wouldn't have hesitated to walk over and say something. Five years ago it would have been natural, like breathing. Now she froze – all she could do was look back into those brown eyes of his, smiling awkwardly, and hide her face by taking a sip of wine.

Oh, Chakotay. So many things had gone unsaid between them through the years.

There had been no spoken promise, nothing binding them together, nothing to assure that once they reached Earth and were no longer limited by protocol, they would be lovers. Only a legend about an angry warrior who had found peace by the side of his brave, wise, beautiful chieftain. A certain touch of hands across a table on New Earth. That memory had meant everything to her, had kept her setting a course for home long past the time when other Captains had given up. She'd always assumed it had meant the same to him.

She could just imagine Admiral Paris' sardonic voice: _Well, Katie. You know what they say about people who assume … they make an ass out of you and me._

Chakotay had ended his story on such a contented note. She had asked him, smilingly, if there was really such an ancient legend. He'd replied, _No … that just made it easier to say._ If they had to continue the story now, how would it end?

_The angry warrior offered his heart to the woman warrior, but being bound by duty, she refused. He continued to serve her faithfully as a friend, advisor and comrade-in-arms for several years, never speaking of his love, waiting for her to change her mind. Eventually both of them grew distracted by other lovers, and weary and hardened by many battles. Still, the woman warrior continued to believe in the bond between them, and was content to wait until they reached their destination. However, one day the angry warrior came to her and announced that he had found a new love – her young friend, dear as a daughter, for whose happiness the woman warrior was prepared to make any sacrifice. Even her heart._

_She understood that he had grown tired of waiting, that love is a fire which eventually turns to ashes without added fuel. She recognized her friend's courage, wisdom and beauty, and knew the young woman would make a worthy companion for the warrior. So she stepped aside, hiding her pain with a smile, and wished them all the best._

Not exactly Hollywood, thought Kathryn, stepping out of her corner for some more obligatory mingling. But it'll do.


	4. You Belong With Me

You Belong With Me

(Note: This story is based on the episode "Virtuoso", and may not make sense without it. The translation of the lyrics of "Rondine al nido" comes from the song's Wikipedia page)

"_You're on the phone with your girlfriend. She's upset,_

_she's going off about something that you said – _

_she doesn't get your humor like I do._

_I'm in the room, it's a typical Tuesday night._

_I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like_

_and she'll never know your story like I do."_

- Taylor Swift, "You Belong With Me"

Seven watched from her seat in a Q'omari lecture hall converted into a replica of _La Scala_ as the Doctor sang. He looked very small in his black tuxedo under the floodlights; even that characteristic outward sweep of his arm couldn't manage to fill up the emptiness of that stage. His rendition of "Rondine al nido" (The Swallow in the Nest) flowed like a stream of tears. Captain Janeway actually _was_ crying. Seven's eyes were dry as a bone, but when she looked down, she found her hands locked together so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Being possibly the only person in the building who understood Italian (due to the Collective), she translated the lyrics in her mind. _Under the eaves of the old tower, as the almond tree blossoms, a friendly swallow has returned … only love flees … it makes you hope in vain. My little woman, you were my whole life, but you went away, never to return. _The song ended. A ringing silence fell.

The Q'omar's applause was perfunctory, but the _Voyager_ crewmembers jumped to their feet and whistled as they clapped. Seven did not stand, but clapped so hard her hands stung, wondering if the Doctor could even see her up in the topmost row. He smiled wearily up at them all, took a bow, and disappeared behind the curtains.

Tincoo took the stage instead, hands clasped demurely in front of her. By Human standards, she was petite enough to be easily tucked under a man's arm or swept off her feet. She had cinnamon-colored skin, glossy black hair curled into a tidy bun, and enormous, melting black eyes. Seven, who had always considered her own looks entirely irrelevant, felt like a beanpole in comparison. So this was the woman who "appreciated" him so much, who made "surprises" for him, who had him infatuated enough to leave behind _Voyager_ and everyone he had professed to care about.

"Thank you, Doctor," said Tincoo, in that same caressing voice Seven had once heard over the comm. "That was remarkable. And now, ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce a very exciting new program – a singing holographic matrix, performing my own musical composition." She bowed daintily, her hair gleaming in the spotlight, and left.

The hologram who appeared onstage was identical to the Doctor, except for a Q'omari complexion and forehead markings and the turquoise robe he wore. He opened his mouth and began to sing.

He had been programmed with a vocal range beyond the capability of any Human – and as a result, his voice meandered up and down from a bass rumble to a shrill whine. The melody was, as far as Seven was able to discern, entirely determined by its mathematical properties, without the slightest consideration to harmony, rhythm, aesthetics or emotion. The Q'omar were beaming. It was the most ghastly noise which Seven had ever heard

That explained the Doctor's selection of "Rondine al nido". His new lover had replaced him – humiliated him in front of the entire Q'omar species.

Seven sat throgh the singing hologram's performance as stiffly as only a Borg could sit, hating him and Tincoo with equal vehemence. If _this_ was the little woman's idea of a worthwhile composition, the Doctor's music was wasted on her. No doubt she would consider "You Are My Sunshine" or "Someone To Watch Over Me" to be primitive.

Tincoo had never danced with the Doctor by candlelight, holding him just a little closer than necessary. Tincoo had never spent thirty-five days alone with him, bantering back and forth to keep from going insane. Tincoo had never watched all his private daydreams go out of control, or kissed him on the cheek to make at least one fantasy come true. Tincoo had never defended him from being memory-wiped by their own shipmates – if Tincoo had been there, in fact, she would probably have pushed the button herself.

The Doctor belonged on _Voyager._ He belonged with her – his student, his companion, his … whatever their relationship might be – who appreciated him more than Tincoo or any woman ever could. And as soon as she got back on board and gained access to a blank data padd, she would write him a message to that effect.

A fan letter, to make him feel loved.


	5. Breathe

Breathe

" … _And we know it's never simple, never easy,  
never a clean break, no one here to save me.  
You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand  
And I can't  
breathe without you, but I have to …  
breathe without you, but I have to …"_

- Taylor Swift and Colbie Caillat

(Author's Note: Dialogue is quoted directly from the episode "Fury".

The second parting was the hardest.

Kes remembered, through the fog of the intervening years, how she and Neelix had shared a bottle of moon-ripened champagne in the mess hall just before her transformation was complete. They had toasted "to the adventure", made bittersweet jokes about the end of their love affair, and sincerely believed that Kes's departure was all for the good. They had believed that she was leaving for some magical journey of discovery as a being of pure energy, on which Neelix simply could not follow. She had told him she loved him anyway.

Now here they were, saying goodbye for the second time. There was no champagne this time, only a cold, black-and-blue transporter platform. Kes, gray-haired and wrinkled, madness behind her and loneliness before. Neelix, looking older than he should, peering up at her in wistful silence.

"Do you still like leola root?" He handed her a yellow bag.

"Thank you," she replied automatically.

Trust Neelix for that. A few hours ago, she had been planning to sell him to the Vidiians along with all of _Voyager'_s crew, and here he was bringing her snacks. Granted, he had no idea what had happened. And she was far too ashamed, not to mention out of practice with holding conversations, to explain.

Neelix's gray eyes did not leave her face. The twinkle in them was gone; instead he looked as lost and sad as she had ever seen him. That look was all wrong on the face of the cheerful, warm-hearted man she had once loved. And that look was her fault. She couldn't bear to see it anymore. She dropped her eyes.

"See anyone you know?" she muttered.  
"Only you."

No, he really didn't know her anymore.

A small part of her longed to stay. To tend the flowers in the aeroponics bay again, work with the Doctor, meditate with Tuvok, and warm herself by the glow that was Neelix. To taste the wild culinary experiments he had concocted for her, laugh and talk with him, feel his arms around her and the tickle of his whiskers on her cheeks. To be his "sweetie" again. She wouldn't even mind his jealousy now.

But then she thought of the holographic recording which had materialized in Engineering – that golden-haired girl, one and a half years old, pleading with her future self to let go of her hatred and remember who she had been. _That _was the Kes Neelix had loved. She had seen too much, _done_ too much; her uncontrollable powers had cost her everything. She could never be that girl again.

She said goodbye to Neelix and the Captain and was beamed into the dark, shabby cockpit of the shuttlecraft which had become her makeshift home. She set a course for Ocampa as the Captain had suggested, feeling every mile of distance from Neelix in her old bones.

He had given her everything. He'd saved her from the Kazon; he'd loved and cherished her with all his heart. And to think this was how it ended – with her flying away in a lonely ship, leaving him behind with a broken smile in his eyes. There was no one to save her now, no one whom she knew like the back of her hand.

All her life, she had cast aside the familiar to chase after the unknown. She had left her underground home on Ocampa to climb to the surface. She had gratefully left her Kazon masters to join _Voyager_'s crew. She had left _Voyager_ in pursuit of a dream and found nightmares instead. Saying goodbye was never easy, but it had never hurt like this before. Tears choked her; she could barely breathe.

_I'm sorry,_ she sent telepathically, not knowing if it would even reach him any more. _I love you so much. I just can't … _

Her pain and remorse flowed out into the emptiness of space like ripples in a pond, dark and shimmering at the same time. She didn't expect an answer. But it came.

_I know, sweetie. I love you too._


	6. I'd Lie

I'd Lie

"_I don't think that passenger seat  
has ever looked this good to me.  
He tells me about his night  
and I count the colors in his eyes.  
'We'll never fall in love,' he swears  
as he runs his fingers through his hair;  
I'm laughing 'cause I hope he's wrong.  
And I don't think it ever crossed his mind  
(He tells a joke; I fake a smile)  
that I know all his favorite songs."_

- "I'd Lie", Taylor Swift

"Thanks again for the send-off," said Chakotay, smiling warmly at Kathryn from the pilot seat of the _Delta Flyer_. They were on their way to catalogue a rare sort of nebula; the send-off in question had been Chakotay's fiftieth birthday party. She waved his thanks away with a casual hand, smiling back.

"Least I could do for our venerable elder," she teased.

Chakotay swatted her shoulder lightly, making her laugh.

"But what I'd like to know," he continued, "Is, how in the world did you talk Neelix out of serving that inevitable cake?"

Jibalian fudge cake had become an institution on _Voyager_, served at every birthday and holiday; Chakotay was one of the few crewmembers who couldn't stand it. The electric-blue icing put him off; he thought it looked and tasted too chemical.

"I just told him you prefer fruit pies," said Kathryn. "He was delighted. Apparently the blue bricks have been boring him too."

As a matter of fact, she'd given Neelix her own replicator code for the cranberry-cinnamon pie she'd served him for dinner two years ago (an evening when, for once, that glorified toaster of hers had decided to cooperate.) He'd told her it reminded him of Dorvan, where they grew a small sour berry that tasted almost identical. Did he remember?

"Score one for the Captain."

Chakotay's gold-flecked brown eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled. It was the same color she had seen in holographs he'd shown her: his late father, Kolopak, and his beautiful younger sister, Sekaya. The former would never celebrate his son's birthday again; the latter still waited in the Alpha Quadrant. Private and reserved as he was, he rarely mentioned them, but she suspected that on occasions such as his birthday, they were very much on his mind. Which was why she'd pulled out all the stops – cranberry pie, vegetable biryani, candles, a volume of traditional chants and prayers from his tribe – to give him the best birthday party possible.

"Of course," said Chakotay, running a hand through his gelled black hair and not quite meeting her eyes, "This ought to fuel the rumor mill for weeks. They'll be asking exactly how you came to know so much about me. Sure you can handle that, Captain?"

He just had to keep doing that – dropping hints, making comments, every time they were alone together. Reminding her exactly what was between them, and that he still waited. She was never sure whether to be more grateful or annoyed; hadn't she given him her answer long ago? Hadn't she made it clear enough that, much as she wanted to, she _couldn't_ be with him?

She had come so close to giving herself away in front of Neelix. Showering their morale officer with instructions on everything, from the color of the balloons (green) to the candles (natural, unscented beeswax): _Chakotay likes this; I heard him say this; I remember this._ The Talaxian had worn such a shrewd, quizzical look on his spotted face that she was certain he guessed.

"I'd tell them," Kathryn retorted, with all the Starfleet dignity that title demanded, "That if I didn't know my own First Officer's preferences after serving together for six years, I'd have to be blind and deaf."

Which was only half the truth, and they both knew it.

"And by the way, Commander," leaning over to prod his chest with one finger and smile up into his face, "I fully expect a party of my own in two months. Sure you can handle that?"

"Kathryn … " Yes. There it was – her given name, in that soft caressing voice which never failed to remind her of a certain evening on New Earth. "Kathryn, you'd be surprised how well I know you."


	7. Stay Beautiful

Stay Beautiful

(Note: This story is based on the episode "Imperfection" and may not make sense without it.)

"_You're beautiful -  
every little piece, love. Don't you know  
you're really gonna be someone, ask anyone.  
When you find everything you looked for,  
I hope your life leads you back to my door …  
Oh, but if it don't … stay beautiful._

- Taylor Swift

To: Icheb

From: Wildman, N.

Subject: Get Well Soon

Dear Icheb,

I'm sitting between your biobed and Seven's, waiting for you to wake up. The Doctor says you're both going to be just fine, and I should stop asking, but I'm worried. People told me Seven was sick, and they wouldn't tell me why, and you didn't come to see me and then Neelix told me you and Seven are both in Sickbay. I was so scared looking at you both. You were so quiet and Seven's Borg implants were growing. I thought maybe you'd never wake up.

Mom says I could write each of you a letter to read once you're better. She says it might cheer you up. I brought my Flotter doll too, but I put him with you because the Doctor says you've got it worst and because you wouldn't call him irrelevant. I could sing too, like Mom and Neelix did for me when I had the Norcadian chickenpox, but the Doctor does enough of that already. Whoever Wagner is, I don't like him.

I got a last comm from Mezoti and the twins yesterday. The twins didn't say much (as usual), just that they were happy and that their Aunt Zeeta is teaching them to mind-talk with people besides each other. Oh, and everyone on Wysanti Prime can tell them apart because of their auras. Mezoti can't believe there are so many insects in one backyard (we saw it, remember, when we visited Ms. Zeeta's place? All those flower shrubs and trees and leaves on the ground, no wonder there are bugs!) She's planning to start her own honeyfly farm. She couldn't stop smiling. Except when she said she missed us. I miss her too. I wish you could have been there for the comm, but Neelix says it's okay because wherever we go, they'll know we wish them all the best.

I want to tell you something. I thought about it when I was waiting for the Doctor to tell me his "prognosis" if you and Seven were going to live or not. I never told you before. In case something happens again and you really die (but don't ever do that, okay?) I want you to know that you're my best friend. Besides Mom, Neelix, Seven and Mezoti (Flotter and Trevis don't count because they're made up) I love you the most in the whole wide universe.

The Doctor told me how you saved Seven's life. That means you were not only brave enough to give away your cortical node even though it hurt, but also smart enough to make a plan in case your implants couldn't adapt. Mom told me about you taking your Starfleet exams. When we get to Earth and you get your own starship to command, you're going to be a hero just like James T. Kirk or Captain Janeway.

Speaking of the Captain, I asked her not to be too hard on you even if you did disobey her. She told me she'll consider your two weeks in Sickbay as "time served". She's awesome that way, isn't she? But I wish she wouldn't pat me on the head. I'm her assistant. It's not dignified.

Please wake up soon.

Love,

Naomi

P. S.: When you're a Captain, don't change too much. Keep on being you, with your big ears and your quiet jokes and your curiosity. I like you that way.

P. P. S.: Can I be your First Officer?


	8. Mean

Mean

"_And I can see you years from now in a bar,  
talking over a football game  
with that same big loud opinion, but -  
nobody's listening!"_

- Taylor Swift

B'Elanna didn't even recognize the man at first. She and Tom, out for a rare night on the town (the Doctor was babysitting Miral) had walked into Tom's favorite old haunt, Chez Sandrine's, for a night of pool playing and reminiscing over _Voyager._ It was not until the stranger at the counter swivelled his barstool and exclaimed: "Hey, Turtlehead!" that she realized who it was.

"Danny Byrd," she replied, with a tight little smile of recognition. "Small galaxy, isn't it?"

Adulthood hadn't agreed with Danny. The handsome Parrises Squares player she remembered had become a prematurely bald lump of grease in a baggy Hawaiian shirt, bermuda shorts, and socks with sandals. Only the sneer on his face looked familiar, along with the bump on his nose where she had broken it in fourth grade

"You guys know each other?" asked Tom, peering from one to the other, as if he couldn't quite understand how his beautiful wife could ever have gotten to know someone like this.

"We went to elementary school together," B'Elanna explained. "Danny, this is my husband Tom. Lieutenant Commander Tom Paris."

Danny whistled through his teeth. "Starfleet, huh?"

"Yep, both of us." Tom exchanged a proud smile with his wife.

"Wait a sec – you're _married?_" Danny pointed an incredulous finger at them and burst out laughing. "_You?_ Whoa, Commander – dude –" He turned to Tom, "You gotta be kidding me. You were both on _Voyager_, right? Yeah, I saw the vids. You tellin' me out of all the hot babes on that ship – the Borg, the Captain, those twins – the only woman you could get is _her_?"

Danny's hand swept up and down, indicating B'Elanna in all her ridged, hot-blooded, hybrid glory.

"Yeah, and I happen to think I'm a very lucky man." Tom's smile remained, but his voice acquired an edge of steel as he slipped a protective arm around B'Elanna.

"Man, you gotta be careful," Danny continued. "Everything they say about Klingon chicks – you know it's all true. Crazy bitches, those. And since she's a halfie, it's worse, 'cause of the genetic resequencing stuff they have to do just to get these people born. Leaves them a bit wrong in the head, know what I mean?" He pulled a wallet out of his breast pocket. "Listen, dude, I know a lawyer who can – "

"Shut. Up." B'Elanna's clear, sharp voice, combined with an uplifted hand, stopped Danny in his tracks before he could even finish his sentence.

Tom was fully prepared to grab her in case she attacked the man, but all she did was fold her arms and look at him with cool contempt in her hazel eyes.

"Tom and I were just about to have a nice evening, but I guess we'll have to do that someplace else."

Danny's jaw dropped, leaving him gasping like a fish. The only sound, besides the muted conversation of the other bar patrons, was the roar of a crowd on the vid screen behind Danny as a Parrises Squares scoreboard flashed 1:0. B'Elanna turned herself and Tom around, took his arm, and left the building with her head held high.

As they stepped outside into the cool fresh air of a Marseilles evening, both of them burst into laughter.

"It's _that_ Danny Byrd, isn't it? The one you said made your school days a living hell? Gee, I expected someone taller!"

"I know!" She shook her head. "Twenty-five years and his repertoire hasn't changed a bit. Can you believe I wasted so much time on hating him?"

"And now look at _him_, and look at _you_ … wife, mother, Chief Engineer and a decorated Starfleet hero. Almost makes you feel sorry for the guy, doesn't it?"

"Almost." She shrugged. "You know, this one time he pushed me too far, I pulled him off the swings and broke his nose."

"Your usual problem-solving method, was it?"

She rolled her eyes and swatted his arm. "No, really, I could've done some serious damage of the teacher hadn't stopped me. I'm so sorry about that now."

"You are?"

"Oh, yeah. He really wasn't worth the trouble."


	9. Enchanted

Enchanted

"_Your eyes whisper: 'Have we met?'  
'Cross the room, your silhouette  
starts to make its way to me.  
The playful conversation starts;  
counter all your quick remarks  
like passing notes in secrecy.  
All I can say is, it was  
enchanting to meet you … "_

- Taylor Swift

"A common error for a novice player," said Lieutenant Tuvok.

Marayna looked up from her _kal-toh_ board and met the steady, almost hypnotic gaze of his dark eyes. She recognized him as Harry Kim's friend from the day before; the quiet one, who had said "No" every time Harry said "Yes" and frowned disapprovingly at her bathing suit. He was not frowning now; in fact, despite the starched uniform, she had to admit that his smooth, dark, ageless face was strikingly attractive.

"May I … ?"

She watched as he picked up a single rod and repositioned it, causing the whole chaotic jumble to glow bright blue and rearrange itself. A neat double helix became visible on the side of the board facing her.

"How beautiful … "

"_Kal-toh_ is not about beauty," he said. "It is about finding the seeds of order even amidst profound chaos."

Tuvok waved away a holographic hostess offering him a _lei_, holding up his hand palm-out in a polite, but unmistakable gesture of refusal. Marayna knew that gesture; it was one she had made herself, more times than she could count. _No, I don't want to go to that party. No, I don't want a drink. No, I'd prefer to go home and study. _That was the moment she knew she had finally met her match.

She was so tired of being Marayna the nebula-keeper, too shy and awkward to speak to anyone but her computer. Tonight she was Marayna the hologram, beautiful, admired, free to tell this fascinating man whatever was on her mind.

"Why didn't you take the _lei_?" she asked.

"Given the décor," he glanced around at the omnipresent tropical flowers, ferns and palm fronds, "It seems a little excessive."

"I don't believe you," she said, a little giddy at her own boldness. "I think you're trying to isolate yourself and make a public protest at the same time."

"How so?"

"You didn't want to be here in the first place. Being the only one here without a _lei_ allows you to symbolically maintain your solitude. And since everybody can see that you're the only one without a _lei_, you're letting them know that you'd rather be somewhere else."

Marayna slipped her own pink _lei_ over her head and pointedly placed it on the table, joining him solitude with a smile. For a moment she held her breath, afraid of having missed the mark with her analysis or perhaps even offended him – she never did have an instinct for these things – but he only regarded her with a long, searching gaze.

"Your logic is impeccable," he said - and sat down opposite her.

He had a low, deep voice, somehow precise and sensual at the same time. And yes, that _was _a compliment for her.

They talked for hours over the _kal-toh_ board, ranging freely from one topic to another: gaming strategy, Vulcan philosophy, literature, horticulture (Tuvok grew orchids on his homeworld). By silent agreement, they refused all offered flower garlands. Time, to use the common phrase, flew by; looking around as she followed Tuvok to the moonlit balcony, Marayna was startled to realize they were the last patrons left. What time was it? How could she not have noticed? And more importantly (considering his professional attention to detail as a security officer) how could Tuvok not have noticed?

Could it be that her conversation, her character, was as fascinating to him as his was to her?

This night was sparkling. The single full moon shone silver in a blue-violet night sky; tiki torches filled the air with smoke and flickering golden light. The scent of falien flowers was rich and spicy in the air; she had to pinch herself, surreptitiously, to remember it was a holographic projection and not a dream.

"All right," she reflected aloud, "Imagine this - that you, with your logic and your reason, are skimming atop endless waves of emotion. You believe you're in control, but you know that control is an illusion … You believe that you understand the depths beneath you … but that, too, is an illusion."

Moving through the lush green growth of the potted plants in the courtyard, she turned to find Tuvok's deep brown eyes riveted to her face.

"I can see why Ensign Kim finds you … compelling," he murmured, in that velvety voice.

They were standing quite close, close enough to touch. She longed for it, so much that her hand moved to touch his chest almost of its own volition.

"I can see why Harry admires and respects you … so do I."

Neither of them spoke; it was a precious silence, somehow fragile, as if the least word or movement would destroy it.

"I must return to my quarters," said Tuvok finally, moving back.

Her hand dropped back to her side. "Please stay … I've never met anyone like you."

It was the riskiest thing she had said all night; she knew quite well how foolish it was to make herself so vulnerable to another person, especially an attractive male. But she meant every word, and she knew deep inside her solitary heart that if any man was worth risking everything for, it was Tuvok.

"I must admit I share that conclusion," he said. "You are a unique individual."

"Come back tomorrow. I'm sure the weather will hold," defusing her plea with a mild joke, as they were both aware that the Paxau Resort did not include any but the sunniest, mildest, and most perfect weather in its programming.

"Perhaps," replied Tuvok.

They said goodnight in quiet, measured tones, like a minor ritual, before he turned and left the holodeck. Marayna closed her eyes and smiled to herself, dizzy with hope and anticipation. _Perhaps_. Oh, if only he would make up his mind to come!

A mechanical buzz shook her out of her reverie. The courtyard disappeared – he must have ended the program – jolting her harshly back into her physical body and the maintenance station it occupied. She shivered in the comparative cold, squinting as her eyes adjusted from the torches and moonlight to the dim artificial lighting of the console room. Her sigh fell into the empty air.

"Please," she whispered, "Don't be in love with someone else … please don't have somebody waiting for you."

Because if he did, she did not see how she could bear to be alone again.


	10. Never Grow Up

Never Grow Up

"_Oh darling, don't you ever grow up –  
__don't ever grow up – just stay this little.  
__Oh darling, don't you ever grow up –  
__don't ever grow up – it could stay this simple.  
__I won't let nobody hurt you,  
__won't let no one break your heart,  
__no one will desert you …  
__Just try to never grow up."_

- Taylor Swift

"Computer, lights off."

Ensign Samantha Wildman paused in the doorway of her baby's room as the pre-programmed lights dimmed slowly, replaced by the glow of the stars in the mobile above her crib. Naomi stirred slowly under her pink blanket, making herself comfortable at last; it had taken four and a half renditions of _Mama's Gonna Buy You a Mockingbird_ to get her to stop crying. Samantha rubbed her tired eyes, reluctant to turn away from the little bundle in the crib; she had the superstitious fear that, as soon as she turned her back, Naomi would start up again, or worse, something terrible might happen to her while her mother slept.

A hand on her shoulder made her turn around.

"Everything okay in there?" whispered Neelix.

"Yes, yes … " She stepped backwards through the door, allowing it to slide shut, and sat down on the living-room sofa with an absent wave of her hand. "She's fine, thanks."

"And what about her mother, hm?"

Samantha looked up to find that the Talaxian was watching her with the sort of shrewd concern she had come to recognize as his 'Morale Officer face'.

"I've seen that look in your eyes before, Sam. You're not only exhausted, you're … I don't know. Is it because of your husband, perhaps? Having his child without him?"

Samantha hesitated. She _did_ miss Greskrendtregh, every day, and it _did_ hurt her that she couldn't show him personally how Naomi had smiled today, or how she looked with her little rubber duck in the bath, or the little coos and crows she made; all she could do was capture as many moments as possible on her holoimager, and hope to God that he'd have the chance to see it.

"Yes, but … it's more than that," she admitted. "It's … oh, it's ridiculous. Tuvok would tell me I'm being illogical."

"Illogic is my specialty, remember?" Neelix patted her hand and smiled. "As Mr. Vulcan would attest. So go ahead, my dear. Whatever it is won't go beyond this room."

She couldn't help but smile back at that. "Aw, Neelix … the truth is … I'm worried about Naomi. For absolutely no reason."

Once begun, she felt as if a dam had been broken. "I mean, she's healthy, she's happy, she's as average as you can expect a hybrid baby to be … and _growing!_ Goodness, I don't see how Ktarian parents ever kept their children dressed in the days before replicators!" Thinking of yet another set of rompers she would have to recycle soon, Samantha threw up her hands. "She's growing so fast, before I know it, I'll turn around and some sulky teenager will be sitting in our quarters, and I'll think, _whatever happened to my baby girl?_" To her embarrassment, she found a lump growing in her throat; her voice wavered as she went on, and two tears slipped down her face.

"And that's if we _don't_ run into another Kazon sect or Vidiian organ-harvester or, I don't know, another spatial anomaly that tries to squash us like a rotten fruit. We're in the goddamned Delta Quadrant here, on a ship that seems to run into every disaster it possibly can, and I always thought I was prepared to raise a child on a starship, but – but – "

That was when her voice gave out, and Neelix put his arm around her, and she found herself crying into her friend's spice-scented blazer as if she were barely older than Naomi. She had not cried when Captain Janeway destroyed the Caretaker's array. When her first baby died, she had been too exhausted from labor to feel much of anything, and when Naomi arrived due to that bizarre duplication, Samantha had done her best to dismiss that whole heartbreaking, mend-bending day from her memory. She remembered it now.

She _had_ lost a daughter. There was nothing to prevent it from happening again.

"I know," said Neelix, rocking her gently back and forth. "I know … sometimes you're afraid to leave her out of sight, aren't you? As if every precious day with her might be your last. You wish she'd stay that little bundle of joy forever … never grow up, never be hurt or frightened or have anything to regret. But really, Sam … honestly now … " He took her by the shoulders and looked her squarely in the face. "If your own mother had thought like that, where would you be?"

That brought to mind a tall, gray-haired, smiling Commander Wildman, proudly seeing her daughter off at the transporter platform in Utopia Planitia. _Your first posting. I'm so proud of you, honey. Now don't forget to call me on the comm when you get back, listen to your superiors and don't get distracted at your station like you used to do with your grade school homework … _All with not the faintest sign of sorrow on her face.

"She probably did," Samantha murmured, wiping away her tears. "When I told her I was joining Starfleet like her and Dad, she must have been worried … but she didn't even try to talk me out of it, in spite of the dangers. She said she was proud of me."

"That's right." Neelix nodded. "Who wouldn't be?"

"And she's still waiting for me … I know she is. The women of my family," she shrugged, "Are known for their strength of mind."

"No doubt. And I'm sure the latest addition to that family will make her ancestors proud as well."

Samantha glanced toward the door to the nursery. Naomi was still sleeping. Suddenly the thought of her as an adult didn't seem so regrettable after all; it would be fascinating, in fact, to watch her personality develop.

"I wonder if she'll be a Flotter fan too later," she mused out loud. "It's a holoprogram. I just loved it when I was a kid. I even brought my old copy onto the ship, you know, as a sort of good luck charm. Maybe when she's older, the two of us can run it together … or the three of us. That is, if you're interested."

"Oh, sure!" Neelix grinned. "And when she's older, I could teach her to cook, and fly a shuttle, and strike a good bargain in a negotiation … "

"Not so fast, mister." Samantha held up a warning hand. "Wait until she's out of diapers first."

But as they continued their speculations, Samantha felt her burden lifting – for the moment, at least, Naomi's future looked bright to her, and life on a starship had as many opportunities as dangers.

"There's an old saying on Talax, you know … Don't borrow trouble, you can't give it back."

"I'll try to remember that."

Neelix got to his feet, tugged at his rumpled shirt until it sat smoothly again, and patted Samantha's arm in an affectionate farewell.

"Take care, Sam. Anytime you need to talk, just call me. All right?"

"All right. Goodnight, Neelix. And thank you … I … you've been wonderful. You kow you're the best godfather my baby could possibly have."

Neelix ducked his whiskery head in embarrassed acknowledgement before he left the room.


	11. The Best Day

The Best Day

(Author's Note: This story is an addition to the episode "Life Line" and may not make sense without it.)

_"I have an excellent father;  
his strength is making me stronger.  
God smiles on my little brother:  
inside and out, he's better than I am.  
I grew up in a pretty house and I had space to run  
and I've had the best days with you."_

- "The Best Day", Taylor Swift

"This is when Lewis won the Daystrom Prize for creating me," Haley told the Doctor, beaming as she clicked forward to the next picture on the viewing screen they'd set up in the holodeck. They were sitting together on a couch inside the otherwise bare room, like a twentieth-century movie audience. The picture showed Dr. Lewis Zimmerman on a stage, accepting a golden plaque from a grey-haired woman in blue; Lewis' lopsided grin was unmistakable even in profile. Haley stood on a platform behind them, hands clasped, wearing her customary plum-colored dress and an unreadable expression.

"Reg took these," she explained. "He was sitting in the front row, cheering his loudest."

"You don't look very happy," the Doctor observed.

"I had to stand there for about an hour while Professor Martin – that's the chairwoman of the Daystrom Institute – made her speech," Haley confessed. "I was happy for Lewis, of course, but I could've done without those people staring at me."

The Doctor grimaced in sympathy.

"Then Lewis interrupted her." Haley's eyes twinkled with mischief. "He asked, at the top of his voice: _What's the point of giving me a prize for creating the first self-aware hologram if you'll just put her on display like a prize pig?_"

The next picture was a close-up of Professor Martin's bony jaw dropping in shock. The Doctor burst out laughing; so did Haley, shaking her blond head at the memories and covering her mouth so as not to be too loud. The holodeck was soundproof, but it was hard to break the habit of being quiet at midnight, especially when Reg was snoring on the living room sofa and Lewis was still recovering from surgery.

"So he asked me if I'd had enough, and I said yes. He took me offline right there," she continued, still smiling, "Uploaded me into my transport unit, marched offstage and didn't activate me until we got back home."

"Trust the old reprobate for that," said the Doctor, glancing at the exit, as if he could sense his creator's state from three rooms away. "The first self-aware hologram?" he inquired, catching Haley's eye, mainly to reassure her that he was not unnecessarily worried.

She nodded. "Deliberately created, that is. There was a rogue holonovel character who took over the _Enterprise_ once; he was an accident. But since I'm only a prototype, the storage space in my matrix is very limited. I wasn't programmed with special skills, like you or the other EMHs … " She shrugged, determinedly casual, as if the words of nine years ago didn't hurt at all, though she still heard them as if it were yesterday. "The newsfeeds called me a 'gimmick' and a 'waste of energy'."

"Haley!" The indignant flash of the Doctor's hazel eyes made him resemble Lewis more than ever. "Don't tell me you agree with that! Why, you – you have the kindest personality of any of Lewis' creations. Just the other day he was telling me I should look to you as an example."

"Really?" If she were organic, she might have blushed. Their creator rarely praised anyone; when he did, it meant a great deal.

"He cares for you, you know," he continued, in a softer tone. "You're obviously not a gimmick to him."

These words warmed her heart as she picked up the remote control and scrolled all the way to the oldest photos in the database. She stopped at the image of a dainty young woman with sandy hair, an oval face and pale, wistful blue eyes, standing on a transporter platform and waving at the camera. The uniform she wore was outdated, a mustard-yellow dress which didn't suit her at all, and her hair was swept up in a bun; otherwise she was the spitting image of Haley herself.

The Doctor glanced from one to the other. "Is that … ?"

"Helen Zimmerman," said Haley. "Lewis' wife, leaving for her first shipboard assignment in 2319. Three months later, her shuttle crashed during an away mission. She was pregnant with Lewis' daughter. Neither survived. He understood all along that her career was dangerous," she added, "But she'd chosen it at least. It was the child's death that gave him trouble."

The Doctor nodded somberly, as if he understood more than she was saying.

"He resigned from Starfleet and devoted his life to the field of holography. And after almost sixty years, he achieved … well, me – a sentient hologram with his and Helen's traits combined, who will never grow old or die before he does. I'm the closest thing he has to a daughter."

If Lewis had seen the Doctor's eyes at that moment, he would never have accused his creation of lacking compassion again.

"In that case, I'd be honored to consider you my sister." He squeezed Haley's small hand in his, and she smiled.

They watched many more pictures after that, sometimes with an explanation, sometimes without one. _Click._ A younger, healthier, dark-haired Lewis in the lab, posing with one arm around Haley. "My first activation ... I was so confused. Nine years, it feels like a lifetime already ..."

_Click._ Lewis and Reg, absorbed in a fierce game of chess. "That was before he joined the Pathfinder project. I was worried for Reg at first – he's so awkward, and you know what Lewis can be like – but they really hit it off. I think Reg reminds Lewis of himself as a young man."

_Click. _Reg caught in mid-gesture, talking to an EMH Mark Two to test its social subroutines. "They were supposed to be like male versions of me, but personality-wise they turned out more like Lewis."

"I know what you mean. I met one two years ago; obnoxious fellow. Long story."

_Click. _Lewis swatting Roy (the holographic housefly) away from a gigantic chocolate birthday cake while Reg blew out the candles. _Click, click, click. _Haley in a variety of outfits, from ballgowns to overalls to catsuits to the simple dress she wore today.

_Click. _Lewis in a green-lit holosuite, shaking hands with a handsome, cappucino-colored young man in a contemporary Starfleet uniform, while his exact duplicate watched them with an uncomfortable smile. "The Mark Three was modelled after Dr. Julian Bashir, the youngest Chief Medical Officer in Starfleet History. He's genetically enhanced, and it was actually Lewis who uncovered the secret. It made a huge scandal, but the Mark Three is by far the most successful of the EMH models. Oh – no offense."

"None taken."

_Click. _A smoky, intimate nightclub reminiscent of Sandrine's, with a silver-haired man in a tuxedo singing into an antiquated microphone. "That's Vic Fontaine, based on a 1960's jazz singer. He's in-character _and_ sentient, if you can believe it – it's as if the real Vic Fontaine had dropped in from the past, swallowed the database on interspecies diplomacy and opened a nightclub on Deep Space Nine, which is where Lewis sold his program to. So you see, Doctor, you're not the only Zimmerman hologram who loves music."

She spoke in a respectful, but slightly detached tone; as if she, or even the Doctor, who had fought with Lewis every day since the beginning of his visit, belonged to him more than Mark Three or Vic Fontaine ever would.

_Click. _Lewis spinning in his office chair to face the camera, wearing his trademark baggy, off-white cardigan and a very kind smile.

"So _that's_ what he looks like without a sneer," the Doctor couldn't resist remarking. "Hmm … not bad. I can see the resemblance between us."

Haley beamed. "That sweater is my work, actually. It was after he interrupted his conference on Vulcan – "

"With the 'pointy-eared blowhards'?"

"Exactly … and flew back all the way here just to repair a malfunction of my program. I wanted to thank him for … for taking care of me. I didn't expect him to wear the thing _every_ day, but when he got sick … well, I guess it helped a little."

_Click. _Reg and Counsellor Troi at the dinner table, trying very hard to look as if nothing was the matter. _Click. _Lewis, white-haired and frail as a ghost, wrapped up in the cardigan and staring out the viewport in lonely abstraction. _Click. _Lewis two seconds later, aiming a bloodshot glare at anyone with the impertinence to see him dying.

"You've helped much more than '_a little',_ Haley," said the Doctor. "In fact, I don't know where we'd be without you. That scheme you cooked up with Mr. Barclay and the Counselor may very well have saved our … our father's life."

_Click. _Lewis sitting up for the first time after his operation, leaning against three pillows, glowering down at a bowl of broth while Reg and Haley sat on either side of the bed. Already he looked brighter, more solid, than in the previous two pictures.

"_You _saved his life," said Haley, leaning her head on the Doctor's shoulder. "Don't forget … little brother."


	12. Tied Together With A Smile

Tied Together With A Smile

"_Hold on, baby, you're losing it.  
The water's high, you're jumping into it  
and letting go … and no one knows  
that you cry, but you don't tell anyone  
that you might not be the golden one …  
And you're tied together with a smile,  
but you're coming undone … "_

- Taylor Swift

_Beep._

No response.

_Beep._

No response.

Instead of activating the door chime a third time, Seven of Nine tapped her commbadge, knowing that Captain Janeway's biosignature was on the other side of that door and determined to get an answer if she waited in the corridor all night.

"Seven of Nine to the Captain, open this door. Please."

"Come in," said Janeway, in a voice made rougher than ever by lack of use.

Seven entered a room that was so dark, her human eye narrowed reflexively and took several seconds to adjust. There were no flowers on the table, no paper books lying open; even the ever-present smell of coffee was bitter and stale. Janeway stood by the viewport, silhouetted by the lighting strips, staring out at the starless expanse of the Void. She wore a short-sleeved blue shirt, the bottom layer of her uniform; her jacket and turtleneck hung over the back of a nearby chair.

"What is it, Seven?" she asked, without turning her head. "If it's a matter of ship's business, Commander Chakotay can take care of it."

"It is not ship's business … at least, not entirely."

Seven hesitated. Asking the Captain to leave her quarters had seemed like a good plan in theory – simple, efficient, and with results that would benefit the entire crew. Actually speaking to her was a much more daunting task than she had realized. What if Janeway ended up in even more distress than she was already?

"Captain … " Having no talent for diplomacy, as usual, Seven delivered her message directly. "You have not left your quarters for two weeks. You must return to duty."

Finally, the Captain turned to face her. Her eyes, even the shadows, were hard as marbles.

"And since when do you have the right to give me orders, Seven?"

"Your Starfleet command structure is irrelevant in this case!" Seven snapped. "The crew is concerned for you, as am I."

"There's no cause for concern," Janeway rasped, waving away Seven's words with one hand while the other rested on her hip. "I'm perfectly fine."

"It is unhealthy for you to isolate yourself in this way. The Doctor agrees."

"So it's a shipwide conspiracy now, is it? For God's sake!" Janeway rolled her eyes. "Can't I leave you people alone for just a few days without my constant supervision? Can't take a break from being the Captain just once, after five years out here? Haven't I earned that much?"

Two minutes in, thought Seven, and her rescue mission was already devolving into an argument. How would this help?

"The crew does not require your supervision," she replied, making an effort to be rational. "Commander Chakotay is more than capable as a leader. And no one is disputing the fact that you are entitled to privacy. However, spending fourteen days inside these rooms is … excessive, and if you require a 'break' – that is to say, recreation – the holodeck would be more appropriate."

"Who are you to lecture me like this?" Janeway's eyes glittered with rage.

"Seven of Nine, your protegée and friend."

She was reminded, in one of those intuitive leaps of the human brain that had taken her so long to get used to, of another confrontation between them, little more than a year ago. It had been Seven herself bristing with defensive anger behind a forcefield, Janeway trying to calm her. What had the Captain said then, to remind a lonely severed drone that life was still worth living? _You can still be part of a Collective – a human Collective …_

"Captain, you are part of a community that values you – not only as a Starfleet officer, but as an individual. The Doctor missed your participation in his recent talent show. Lieutenant Paris claims that the Chez Sandrine simulation bores him without _Voyager_'s best pool player in attendance. As for Commander Chakotay … I believe he has not smiled in fourteen days."

She thought of the Commander's tired eyes on the bridge that day, as he had brusquely and sarcastically 'ordered' her to report good news. Acting as a buffer between Captain and crew was wearing him out. If this went on much longer, it might be his turn to retire to his quarters soon.

At the sound of Chakotay's name, the Captain's eyes softened for the first time. She sighed, dropped into an armchair, and passed her hand over her forehead as if she had a headache.

"But that's just it, Seven … I care about them too. That's why it's so hard to face them."

"Explain."

"I … I made an error of judgement, four years ago. I stranded my crew in the Delta Quadrant to prevent a conflict I had no right of interfering with. I made that decision for all of them. Every death, every injury, every physical or emotional scar among them is my responsibility. For the past four years I've managed to ignore it, but then we landed in this void ... " Janeway waved a tired hand at the empty viewport. "And with no anomalies or away missions or battles to get through, it all … caught up with me. And I'm tired, Seven … I'm tired of being responsible. I want to go _home_."

Janeway's voice was palpable with longing as she spoke those last words, sounding less like a formidable starship captain for once and more like an exhausted child. Seven had become accustomed to seeing her Captain as a mentor and protector, almost a mother figure, but tonight, she felt like the stronger of the two. She sat down in the opposite chair and clasped her hands, unconsciously imitating the older woman's posture as she considered her response. _An error of judgement …_ did the Captain really believe that?

"According to the crew's version of events, Captain, your motive for destroying the Caretaker's array was to protect the Ocampa from the Kazon. Using it to return to the Alpha Quadrant would have put an entire species at risk of slavery or extinction."

"I broke the Prime Directive … "

"We have both assimilated enough Starfleet data to know that the Prime Directive does not always accord with human ethics."

Janeway glared at Seven. but did not contradict her.

"Captain, if you had asked your crew – Starfleet and Maquis – at the time, what would they have chosen? To extend their journey and pusue a unique opportunity to explore a quadrant unknown to the Federation, or to return home at the expense of millions of sentient lives?"

To Seven's surprise, the Captain shook her head and let out a slow, rusty laugh.

"Your rhetoric's improving, Seven. All those arguments with the Doctor must have done you some good."

"Thank you, Captain. Was I successful?"

The Captain looked away with an uncomfortable shrug, implying that either she did not know the answer, or that by now she really would consider the Ocampa's safety a reasonable price to pay.

"Do you consider finding me to be an error?" Seven asked – the final weapon in her arsenal, the question she had been most afraid to ask.

Janeway's head snapped up. "What makes you say that?"

"If you had not become stranded in the Delta Quadrant, requiring passage through Borg space, I would never have been liberated from the Collective and become a member of your crew. I would have spent my life as a drone, never experiencing personal pride, or joy, or friendship … "

Her first meal, steamed vegetables, presented by a cheerful Mr. Neelix. Commander Tuvok leading her out of the wreck of the _Raven._ The Doctor's voice, vividly raised in argument or song, softening as he welcomed her back after their passage through the _Mutara_-class nebula: _You performed admirably._ Janeway in the simulated da Vinci workshop, offering her a whole new life in the shape of handful of clay.

"I am not the only one to benefit from _Voyager_'s presence in the Delta Quadrant. Lieutenant Paris and the Maquis would be considered criminals on Earth. On _Voyager_, they have all gained productive and fulfilling occupations, made alliences, and in some cases, even found mates. Do you regret giving us these opportunities? Do you regret knowing me?"

Seven waited in tense anticipation, her cybernetic hand digging into her human one, as she waited for Janeway's answer. The older woman's eyes were unfocused, staring over Seven's shoulder as if she could read her decision on the gray wall beyond. Slowly, a change came over her face and body, like the sun moving into a shadowy corner: she gripped the armrests of her chair, sat up straighter, and met Seven's eyes directly.

"Computer," she declared, "Lights at one hundred percent."

They both blinked as the lights came on, illuminating the dust in the corners of the room, a half-finished meal tray sitting unrecycled in the replicator, the graying roots of Janeway's hair and the shadows under her eyes. She looked around, dragged herself out of the armchair, and much to Seven's astonishment, pulled the younger woman into a motherly embrace.

"I'm _glad_ I took you in, Seven of Nine," she whispered, as the former drone tentatively returned the hug. "I wouldn't change one second of your time on _Voyager_. You've earned your place here many times over, and even when you argue with my decisions or challenge my beliefs – maybe especially then – I'm proud to be your teacher, Seven. Every day, you make me proud."

Janeway stepped back with her hands on Seven's shoulders, smiling up at her with gentle blue eyes. Seven met her gaze rather awkwardly, having no idea how to reply. A simple _thank you _seemed utterly inadequate.

"Now," said Janeway, turning bright and energetic again as she let go of Seven and headed for her closet. "If I recall correctly, you still owe me a rematch for that Velocity game we had last month. Meet me at Holodeck One in fifteen minutes?"

"I have work to complete in Astrometrics – "

"It can wait," said the Captain, holding up an authoritative hand. "I haven't exercised in fourteen days, remember? Who knows" - with a grin and a playful tilt of her head – "For once, you might even win."

One of the many things the two women had in common were the inability to resist a challenge, and knowing this made Seven irrationally, inexplicably happy as she paused in the open doorway to look over her shoulder.

"I believe I already have, Captain."


	13. Haunted

Haunted

(Author's Note: This story is based on the episode "Equinox" and may not make sense without it. All dialogue is quoted directly from the script.)

_"You and I walk a fragile line.  
I have known it all this time,  
but I never thought I'd live to see it break.  
It's getting dark and it's all too quiet  
and I can't trust anything now  
and it's coming over you like it's all a big mistake._

_Oh, I'm holding my breath,_  
_won't lose you again._  
_Something's made your eyes go cold …"_

- Taylor Swift, "Haunted"

Captain Janeway's eyes were cold as she stepped away from the door to Cargo bay Two. On the other side of that door was a handcuffed Noah Lessing, who for refusing to give her Captain Ransom's tactical data was about to be left to the nonexistent mercy of the nucleogenic aliens. Chakotay looked back at her with unconcealed horror.

"Don't do this, Captain."

"He'll break," she rasped, in a voice like rusty iron.

Seconds passed. The haunting cry of the aliens rose on the other side of the door. Lessing made no sound, loyal to Ransom even in the face of death. Chakotay knew what loyalty was, or at least he thought he knew. Kathryn had his loyalty. But this, this was not the Kathryn he knew – the woman who would give second chances to Maquis and criminals; reclaim Seven's humanity over months of patient hard work; walk onto a Borg cube to save a crewmate; sit up all night with a malfunctioning EMH. This was Ransom's counterpart, the result of such single-minded obsession that everything else had fallen by the wayside. Somewhere out there, he had no doubt, Ransom was torturing Seven for _Voyager_'s codes as well, and with the same justification: _you're leaving me no choice._

"_Damnit, _Kathryn - "

"You're panicking. He'll break."

But whether or not Lessing would have broken, they never found out. Chakotay drew his phaser, burst into the cargo bay, fired at the emerging alien to send it back through the fissure, and hauled the prisoner into the corridor. Janeway's face gave nothing away; she might as well have been playing poker at Chez Sandrine's for all the expression in her ice-blue eyes. He had never disobeyed her like this before.

There was always a choice. Chakotay only prayed he'd never have to make another one like this.

=/\=

Chakotay's eyes were cold as he regarded Kathryn across the ready room. She leaned against the railing for support, trying for at least the appearance of calm even though she felt like her universe was crumbling to pieces.

"You almost killed that man back there," he accused, his voice low with suppressed fury.

"It was a calculated risk," she shot back, "And I took it."

How could he not see how unforgivable the _Equinox_ crew's actions were, every one of them? Ransom and Burke may have given the orders, but the rest had carried them out. They were all guilty. Noah Lessing was accessory to genocide. Letting the aliens have him would have been harsh, but just; besides, if not for Chakotay's defiance, he would certainly have given in first … wouldn't he? Didn't desperate times like this call for desperate measures?

_That's exactly what Ransom said,_ whispered a dry, cynical voice at the back of her mind.

"It was a bad call," said Chakotay. "I'm warning you; I won't let you cross that line again."

Not _let_ her?

"You are hereby relieved of duty until further notice," she snapped. She'd come within seconds of relenting, but she would not stand for her own First Officer dressing her down like one of his Maquis subordinates. The formal Starfleet phrase hung in the air like a frozen bullet, her pride making it impossible to take back.

"What's happened to you, Kathryn?" he murmured, the ice in his black eyes breaking for just a moment to reveal a fathomless sorrow.

"I could ask you the same question," she said, looking so closely into his face she could see every new line carved by their journey. Close enough to put her hand on his chest, as she had done so often, to feel his heartbeat under his uniform – yet at this moment, he might as well be lightyears away.

How could Chakotay, who had always understood her – her love of exploration; the sense of duty she adhered to even when it meant sacrificing her heart's desire; even her depression in the Void – fail to understand this? When he had supported her against objections from his own crew, cried out loud over her as she lay dying, sworn to make her burden lighter on New Earth with a clasp of his hand, how could he not support her now?

_What's happened to you?_ she might ask – but that would be the wrong question. He had always been this way, as stubbornly rooted in his principles as an oak tree was rooted in the ground. It was just that those principles had never been opposed to hers before.

So if she was honest with herself, she would have to ask: _What's happened to me?_


	14. Love Story

Love Story

(Author's Note: This story is based on the episode "The Disease" and may not make sense without it.)

_I got tired of waiting,  
wondering if you were ever coming around.  
My faith in you was fading  
when I met you on the outskirts of town._

_And I said:_  
_"Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone._  
_I keep waiting for you, but you never come._  
_Is this in my head? I don't know what to think - "_  
_He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said:_  
_"Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone._  
_I love you, and that's all I really know._  
_I talked to your dad; go pick out a white dress._  
_It's a love story, baby, just say … yes."_

_We were both young when I first saw you ..._

- Taylor Swift, "Love Story"

"I wasn't sure I'd see you again," said Tal, crossing the room to take Harry's hands like steel drawn to a magnet.

_I wasn't sure he'd even want to see me, now I've been exposed as a mutineer. _The last time she had seen him was when Captains Janeway and Jippeq had confronted her about her sabotage of the Generational Ship.

"The Captain gave me permission," he said softly.

Thank the stars, he'd forgiven her. She could feel it in the warm grip of his hands, see it in every line of his exotic, beautiful face. That might make their parting easier … or not.

"To say goodbye?" She fought to speak calmly, even as her stomachs lurched in anticipation of the long recovery ahead. The _olan'vora _or "shared heart" had asserted itself with a vengeance, and the more time she spent with Harry now, the worse she would feel when he finally left. _Pull yourself together, Darren Tal. Don't make him feel any guiltier than he already does._

Harry took a deep breath and stepped back, but did not let go of her hands.

"To take you with me," he said. "If you want."

Tal's breath caught. She felt dizzy. Harry's smile was breathtaking in its sudden intensity, like the faraway birth of a star; it took several seconds before she realized he was smiling in answer to her own delirious grin.

"_Really?_"

"Uh-huh. I talked to both our captains – begged them, really. Explained to them how important this is to both of us, and … well. They agreed that since you're leaving Varro society anyway, you and I might as well spare ourselves the separation."

"Might as well?" she teased. "You sound pretty casual about this."

"Only because I'm trying to act like a Starfleet officer," he admitted, with a rueful shrug. "Instead of the hormonal teenager I've been accused of being. I know," squeezing her hands, his dark, slanted eyes catching hers. "I know this is a lifetime commitment I'm offering. I know it will be a challenge for both of us, and it might not even work out . but it's a challenge I'm willing to take. What do you say, Tal? Ready to explore the unknown?"

_Explore the unknown_. He couldn't have said anything more exciting, or more terrifying, to fire her imagination. Here was everything she had dreamed of since she was tall enough to see the stars through her parents' viewport. Stellar phenomena, alien life forms, it all fascinated her.

If she was honest, that fascination had been one of her reasons for pursuing the handsome Human in the first place, intending nothing but a casual fling with none of the consequences intimacy had among the Varro. Instead she had found a man she belonged with, as effortlessly as the parts of a well-designed engine: a man who shared her sense of humor, her joyful wonder at the beauty of the universe, who balanced her impulsiveness with his reason and her fierce individuality with his dedication to his crew.

She would be leaving the only home she'd ever known – but for a life with him, she was willing to pay the price.

"Absolutely ... but are you sure?" she asked. "Now that you know what I've done - "

"I can't say I approve," he replied soberly, "But I understand. My ancestors from four hundred years ago lived through an oppressive, isolationist regime not unlike yours. Back then, there were people who would have done anything to escape. You were right to help Captain Jippeq stop the parasites from putting anyone in danger."

He pulled her close, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, as they turned to her viewport to watch her ship – her former ship – disintegrate. Most of the segments were staying together in one big cloud, but a dozen of them were already moving away. Tal glanced at the computer at the corner of her eye, where she probably had several messages from her comrades asking if she'd joined them. If her parents were still alive, she would have felt torn in half now; but they had been killed in a battle with the Hirogen years ago, and she had no family left. She would miss her colleagues and former co-conspirators, certainly, but none of them shared her heart. She reminded herself to send them her goodbyes and explanations before they moved out of range.

"Was it your idea to expand _Voyager_'s shields to protect our ship?" asked Tal, thinking of those pulse-pounding moments when she had feared that her parasites had gone too far, and that her intended act of liberation would turn to murder. Even as things were, the guilt would probably follow her all her life. She had never meant to become a terrorist, and hopefully she never would be again.

"It was," Harry replied.

"Thank you for that." She smiled up at him and placed a hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of him underneath his uniform jacket. "You saved our lives. And probably convinced Jippeq to let my plan go through. Aliens risking their lives for us, who'd have thought? You gave him a badly needed eye-opener."

"I just couldn't let you die when we'd had so little time together."

She launched herself into his arms, knocking them both off-balance. He spun her around, kissed her thoroughly, and buried his face in her long auburn hair.

When they broke apart, both were literally glowing. Catching sight of the back of his hand, he surveyed it with amused curiosity, then looked into her face. The _olan'vora_ played across his golden skin like sunlight on water. More than the Class Three Nebula, more even than his smile, it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

"Kim to transporter room," he said, stepping away to tap his commbadge. "Two to beam back to _Voyager_."

He kept an arm around her waist as the transporter beam caught them in its light.


	15. Naomi's Song

Naomi's Song

_"I was sixteen when suddenly  
I wasn't that little girl you used to see,  
but your eyes still shined like pretty lights.  
And our daddies used to joke about the two of us:  
they never believed we'd really fall in love  
and our mamas smiled, and rolled their eyes,  
and said: Oh my, my, my ... "_

- Taylor Swift, "Mary's Song"

The woman in blue almost took Icheb's breath away.

It was her hair, red as fire, cascading down her back in smooth waves, shimmering against the forget-me-not blue silk. It was the way her slim white hands gestured as she spoke to Harry Kim; the bright chime of her laugh, which he could just barely hear from the opposite corner of the room. _Who is she? _he wondered. _What is a stranger doing at a Voyager Reuinion? Is she somebody's date – Mr. Kim's perhaps?_

Then, as if sensing his gaze, the redhead turned around, revealing three small spikes on her forehead and an unmistakeable grin.

It was little Naomi Wildman. Icheb nearly choked on his champagne.

She turned back to Kim, excused herself, and made a beeline right through the dancing couples in the middle of the room, dodging them with the grace of a Velocity player. By the time she got to Icheb, he was still trying to recover his composure, and was completely unprepared for the way she launched herself at him for a hug. She had done that often enough as a child, but her arms around him, his hands buried in her silky hair, had never felt like this before.

She kept her hands on his forearms as they drew apart, smile fading into a look of intense concentration, scrutinizing his face as if seeing him for the very first time. That was also new.

"I just – I wasn't sure you'd make it." She stepped back and smoothed her dress, as if embarrassed by showing such an outburst of emotion to a man she hadn't seen in three years. "It's good to see you, Icheb."

"Likewise, Naomi. You look very … aesthetically pleasing tonight."

_Smooth, Icheb,_ he imagined Tom Paris' amused drawl. He hadn't sounded this much like a drone since his early _Voyager_ days. Naomi giggled.

"So do you, Lieutenant. The new uniform suits you. Congratulations, by the way."

"Thank you." Icheb tugged on his brand-new teal tunic with the gold embroidery on the collar, which he was wearing for the first time.

"So. Science officer, huh? What's that like?"

"Challenging, but highly satisfactory." He seized on his recent three-year deep space mission to the Gamma Quadrant, describing in detail several fascinating spatial anomalies his crew had been studying. At least with this topic, he was less likely to embarrass himself – except by being dull, which he had been accused of by several people, including Q Junior.

He faltered and glanced down at Naomi, checking for unfocused eyes and other signs of boredom he had learned to recognize. The last thing he wanted was to bore her. To his pleasure and relief, however, she was looking right up at him, her blue eyes warm and bright.

"You're climbing up the ranks pretty quickly, aren't you? And here's me, still a cadet. I'd better put a move on, or I'll never catch up."

She spoke lightly, casually, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that, strangely, made it easier for Icheb to reconcile this lovely stranger with the little girl he had tutored on _Voyager_. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"As the youngest Captain's Assistant in history, you have nothing to worry about. Once you reach your first posting, Starfleet … will not know what hit them."

"That's good to know."

He congratulated himself on his successful use of idiomatic language in making her smile again.

"Hey, Icheb? Does protocol allow a cadet to ask an officer to dance?"

At first he was puzzled by the question – she knew the regulations as well as he did – but the sparkle in her eyes, and the way she held out both hands to him, made her meaning unmistakeable.

"Certainly, Miss Wildman," he said, allowing her to pull him out onto the dancefloor.

=/\=

"Oh my, my, my," said Commander Samantha Wildman, shaking her gray-streaked head, watching her daughter gliding past in Icheb's arms. "They are growing up fast, aren't they? Naomi especially. I'm still amazed her Ktarian Rite of Womanhood was already two years ago."

"Indeed," said Seven of Nine, sitting next to her at one of the small dining tables lining the hall.

"The crew used to joke about it for years, you know … I didn't think it would really happen. Guess this proves me wrong."

"Wrong about what?"

"Naomi and Icheb, of course. Look at them."

Seven followed Samantha's gaze toward _Voyager_'s youngest former crewmembers, dancing almost cheek to cheek, Icheb's stern face more relaxed than it had been all evening, Naomi positively glowing. He whispered something in her ear. She smacked his arm lightly, and they both laughed.

"You believe they are romantically attracted to each other." Seven's mildly horrified look amused Samantha almost as much as the two dancers.

"It's certainly a possibility."

"But they are so _young_, Commander … "

When the Borg drone had first ended up on _Voyager_, Sam had not expected to know her personally at all, let alone like her. But as Seven began taking care of Naomi, then One, then Icheb and the other Borg children, the two women's shared experiences had brought them closer than either could have imagined. The wistful look in Seven's eyes as she watched her foster-son growing into a man was something Sam understood perfectly.

"She's sixteen and he's twenty-seven, remember? They're no younger than you were when you started dating Chakotay."

"Need I remind you how successful thatexperiment was?" Seven gestured, without bitterness, but not without some light irony. A few steps away, Chakotay was standing with an arm around the waist of Admiral Janeway, his wife of ten years.

"Point taken," said Sam, "But all the same – we can't protect our children forever. We have to let them make their own mistakes. Surely Admiral Janeway taught you that?"

"Point taken, Samantha," Seven echoed, lifting her glass of orange juice in Sam's direction. Sam raised her own champagne flute to meet it.

"To our children," they chorused.


	16. Speak Now

Speak Now

_"She floats down the aisle like a pageant queen …  
But I know you wish it was me,  
you wish it was me – don't you?_

_Don't say yes, run away now.  
I'll meet you when you're out  
of the church at the back door.  
Don't wait or say a single vow -  
your time is running out  
and they said: 'Speak now!'."_

- Taylor Swift, "Speak Now"

"You asked to see me, Admiral," said Chakotay, his hands behind his back, as she walked into his half-lit quarters. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

Seventy-five-year-old Kathryn Janeway cleared her throat, the speech she had been rehearsing for hours drying to dust in her mouth. This was the first time she had been alone with him since her return to _Voyager_; the first time since long before his death. Holoimages aside, she'd forgotten how terribly handsome he was, with that tattoo sweeping across his bronze skin and the quiet serenity of his stance. She'd forgotten just how his black eyes looked when he was concerned for her. It wasn't fair of him to look at her like that, as if he cared. As if he didn't know.

_He doesn't_, whispered the more rational part of her. _As far as he's concerned, we are friends. _

_Then it's time you told him,_ replied another voice, the hard, cold voice of a woman who had been alone for far too long.

"It's … it's not easy for me to say this, Chakotay," she began, twisting her hands together in front of her. "You know me. I've always tended to keep things close to the vest."

An ironic twist at the corner of Chakotay's mouth - _do you ever_ – stung her into speaking out at last. She took a deep breath.

"I've kept my mouth shut about this for twenty-six years, but this could be the last time you and I see each other, and I'll be damned if I don't say it while I still have the chance. Seven of Nine, Chakotay, why? What in the name of sanity are you thinking?"

She hated the way a spark of hope lit up Chakotay's face, then extinguished itself the moment she mentioned Seven's name. What else had he thought she was about to say to him – confess her love? Didn't that just prove all the more how wrong this situation was?

"You have a problem with me seeing Seven socially?" he asked, his face turning stony. "Mind if I ask why?"

"You need to ask?" she snapped. "Well, where should I begin? I know. Let's start with her being about half your age – "

"She's twenty-seven years old, Admiral."

"She's emotionally immature. She wrote a holo-romance about you, did you know? Like a first-year cadet with a crush on her instructor. That's not funny, Commander," for Chakotay had the impertinence to smile, as he found the idea of Seven's fantasies not just inoffensive, but endearing.

"I had no idea she was so creative," he said, sobering down. "Excuse me, Admiral, but I think you have the wrong idea about Seven. She's not the same blank slate of a drone you severed from the Collective. She's learned about relationships; in Unimatrix Zero, she and Axum were together for four years. She approached me, knowing what she wanted, and I was happy to accept. Is it so difficult to believe, Admiral – _Kathryn_ – that another woman might take what you refused?"

As usual, Chakotay saw right through her, making her flush with shame and anger.

"Don't call me that," she said through gritted teeth. "You lost that privilege decades ago, and that's not even my point. If it had been any other woman, I could've reconciled myself to it in time. I might even have been happy for you. I didn't protest at Riley Frazier, or Valerie Archer, or even that memory-altering woman you wrote about who may or may not be real – "

"Then what is your point?"

"Tell me, Chakotay." She held out her hand like a barrier between them. "If I had a daughter, would you have agreed to see her socially, as you put it?"

"Of course not." Chakotay's eyes widened, as if at last he understood. "But Seven's not your - "

"She might as well be." Grief made her swallow hard to get her aching throat under control. Here was another thing she should have said so long ago.

"I sat up nights with her, teaching her about what it means to be human. I helped her through her first friendships, her first arguments, her first grief. I was her role model, the example she looked up to. Chakotay, do you have any idea what your choice did to me? Knowing you loved me once, but settled for my twenty-seven-year-old protegée instead? All three of us deserved better than that."

She had been looking out the viewport as she spoke, glaring at the distant yellow cloud that was the Borg-infested nebula they were approaching, but as soon as she turned back to Chakotay, she wished she hadn't. The look in his eyes was one she had seen only three times before: once as he told her his scorpion parable, once while waiting outside Cargo Bay Two for Noah Lessing to break – and once under Teero's influence, holding a phaser to her head. A look of complete and chilling indifference, as if he didn't recognize her at all.

"Congratulations, Admiral," he said, still aggravatingly calm. She would rather have him shouting.

"What are you talking about?"

"You may have just ruined the best thing that's happened to me in seven years."

"Oh, have I?" she scoffed. "Then it can't have been very solid to begin with."

"I admire Seven for her strength of mind, her resilience, in the face of dangers that would have crushed a lesser person. I admire her intelligence, the way she challenges my thinking and opens my eyes to new perspectives. And yes, before you say anything, I'd have to be blind not to notice how she looks.

"I don't even know if what you've just said is true. Who nows? Maybe I did fall for her because she subconsciously reminds me of you. But for you to imply that I did this deliberately – that I chose her as some poor man's substitute for you … well. All I can say is that this is beneath you. The Kathryn Janeway I know, the one I'm proud to call my friend, would never be so selfish."

"Because she's got a martyr complex the size of both quadrants, that's why! What do you think all this fuss about the transwarp hub is for? She'd rather save millions of strangers than bring her own crew home!"

Aware of the oddity of referring to herself in the third person, Kathryn growled and swept her hand through the air as if to erase the words.

"I have had it up to _here_," she mimed slashing her throat, "With making sacrifices. I sacrificed the Caretaker's array for the Ocampa. I sacrificed our life on New Earth to keep on leading _Voyager_ home_._ I left Jaffen behind on Quarra, even though he was the only man I met who could hold a candle to you. I married you to Seven, believe it or not. Big smile on my face, sappy speeches and all that. To this day, I don't know what posessed me, when it should have been me you were marrying that day. It should have been _me!_"

Twenty-six years' worth of bottled rage, heartbreak and remorse proved a bit too much for one elderly woman, even one with an exemplary EMH. Weak in the knees, short of breath, she collapsed onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands. Damn. How often had she strggled to keep the upper hand in an argument with Chakotay, and carried her point only to lose one more remnant of his respect?

She expected him to leave the room, as he usually had in those later, bitter years after Seven's death. Apparently, even after all these years, he still had the ability to surprise her.

"Oh, Kathryn … what have all those years done to you?"

"Don't you dare pity me," she croaked, moving away as he sat down next to her.

"Don't _you_ dare tell me what to feel." In spite of his brusque tone, his hand on her back was as gentle as ever. "You do that far too often, to yourself and to me. You were right. You've always been harder on yourself than anybody else – the martyr complex, as you call it. Always trying to atone, even for things that were out of your control – like your father's death. Or Seven's."

"Are you psychoanalyzing me?" She leaned into his touch with a quiet sigh, embarrassingly aware of how she had missed this. "You know this isn't one of your vision quests."

"It's a simple fact." He moved both hands to her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes, not sentimentally, but as if he were reading her like a book.

"That's what made you such a perfect officer, didn't it? A second mother to your crew, their best friend, but only in one direction. They can rely on your support at any time, but spirits forbid you should rely on theirs. Captain Janeway has her distance to maintain, otherwise we might find out she's only human."

"I relied on you." It was almost the hardest admission she'd made this evening. "I needed you, and you turned your back on me."

"You never told me."

She thought of New Earth, his ancient legend, their fingers laced across a table. She thought of every shared laugh, every look, every touch between them.

"I told you every day, Chakotay, the only way I could. Weren't you listening?"

"I was … but I'm only human too, Kathryn."

She sighed and leaned into the sofa, rolling her neck to look up at the ceiling instead of her face.

"Oh, you're right," she admitted. "There's a lot of baggage between us, and neither of us is innocent in this. Still – I wish we could have thrashed it out among ourselves without involving Seven. Please tell me she doesn't know the whole story."

"If she did, I honestly don't believe she'd have asked me out. She has quite the sense of honor, you know – I think she gets it from you."

"Just tell me, Chakotay … do you love her?"

He paused for a long moment, frowning as he thought the question through.

"It's too early to tell," he said. "I like her, admire her … the rest might come later, or it might not. Why?"

"Are you going back to her? To your Captain Janeway, I mean."

"Is_ that _why you came here? To push us together?"

She held up her hand again, this time to ward off the accusation in his eyes.

"No. Yes. I don't know … "

He waited for her to unscramble her thoughts, which was not easy sitting so close to him. Why _had_ she come to his quarters, if not to pick a fight?

It was looking into his face once more that gave her the answer: he looked younger, the cynical frown lines she remembered nearly absent; a face comfortably worn-out from years of smiling. The face of the man she loved, which - though his death was only months ago - she hadn't really seen in twenty-six years.

"I'm here because … I want to start over," she said. "Back when you first told me, or will tell me, about Seven, I pretended to be fine even though I felt exactly the opposite. Today, even though I just made my disapproval all to clear, I want to try and actually _feel_ it, be as happy for your sake as I should have been then."

For the first time in God knows how many years, she was the one who reached out to touch him: her hand on his chest, as if it were their first meeting all over again.

"Whatever you decide – whether you stay with Seven or not – I'd like us to be _friends_ again, Chakotay. Friends first and always, no matter what else we become, laughing and arguing and supporting each other no matter what. I missed that so much, you can't even imagine. I missed _you._"

"You want to atone."

She nodded. "This time, with good reason. Will you forgive me?"

He covered her small, age-spotted hand with his larger one, laced their fingers together and smiled. For the first and possibly last time, she saw his dimples lighting up his face. It was an image she would cling to as she boarded her shuttle wih the neurolytic pathogen in her veins, as she sparred with the Borg Queen, as she fell to the floor. It was a memory she would treasure as she hoped against hope for _Voyager_'s safe return to Earth, along with the warmth of his hand and the last words he spoke for her alone.

_"Always, Kathryn. Always and completely."_


	17. Stay, Stay, Stay

Stay Stay Stay

By Laura Schiller

Based on Star Trek: Voyager

Copyright: Paramount

"_I'm pretty sure we almost broke up last night.  
I threw my phone across the room at you.  
I was expecting some dramatic turn away, but you … stayed.  
This morning I said we should talk about it  
'cause I read you should never leave a fight unresolved.  
That's when you came in wearing a football helmet  
and said: Okay, let's talk.  
And I said..._

Stay, stay, stay -  
I've been loving you for quite some time, time, time.  
You think that it's funny when I'm mad, mad, mad -  
I think that it's best if we both stay."

- Taylor Swift, "Stay"

The dinner at Sandrine's was supposed to have been Tom and B'Elanna's first public event as a couple. They had been saving up their replicator rations for almost a month to trade for enough holodeck time. They had both hoped for a nice, relaxing evening of dinner and dancing, followed by a few drinks and perhaps a stay overnight. Instead the evening had turned tense almost immediately; while the presence of their friends had kept them civil at Sandrine's itself, once they were back at Tom's quarters, the tension escalated into a full-blown argument.

"I already apologized," B'Elanna was saying, arms folded tightly, brown eyes flashing with irritation. "What's the big deal? Just because I was a little late - "

"It was an _hour_!" Tom threw up his hands. "That was supposed to be a short repair. What were you doing down there, going through the Jefferies tubes with a micro-resonator?"

"Hey! In case you haven't noticed, that last Borg attack left us with some serious damage. It's delicate work trying to put everything back together, and I have to be there to supervise in case something goes wrong."

"Naturally." He nodded sagely, speaking in a light, casual tone and leaning against a bulkhead as if he were discussing the weather. "And in the meantime, I get to sit alone at a table for two, watching Harry, Lyndsay and the Delaney sisters snicker behind their hands and taking bets on whether I'd been stood up."

B'Elanna could picture it all too clearly: Harry stealing glances of concern, that Engineering ensign who was always late for duty cracking jokes at her CO's expense, and Jenny and Megan looking smug as twin cats in cream, as if _they_ would never have treated Tom this way. For a moment, she actually felt sorry for her boyfriend – which made her even angrier. Guilt-tripping was an old trick; Maxwell Burke had been an expert at it, and so had her mother. She _refused_ to fall for it again.

"The Delaney sisters, of course." She rolled her eyes. "Kahless forbid you should look silly in front of your exes."

"That's not what I - "

"What is it you want, huh? For me to come running every time you snap your fingers? You want to put a tracking signal on my commbadge or something? Well, _there_!"

She yanked the badge off her dress, ignoring the delicacy of the Triaxian silk, and fired it at Tom's head with all her Klingon strength. He ducked just in time, leaving it to clatter to the floor.

Silence fell.

Remorse gripped B'Elanna like the claws of a wild _targ._ Not because of the commbadge, per se – it was a tiny thing and wouldn't have hurt him – but because of what it meant. She had promised herself never to become that woman: the one who threw things at her mate, who would hurt him with words and deeds just to prove she was in control. Tom deserved better than that. _B'Elanna_ deserved better.

She held her breath as he slowly knelt down to pick up her badge. He held it in both hands, looking down at with a peculiar expression she couldn't read. Something flickered in the depths of his clear blue eyes – amusement? Contempt? Then, without a word to her, he turned and walked out of the room.

B'Elanna's temper fizzled out like fire under a wet blanket, leaving her cold and trembling. This was it. He could see now that getting involved with her would bring him nothing but trouble, and was cutting his losses before it went too far. Their "experiment", as Tom had jokingly called it after the recent eviction of those alien scientists, had come to its inevitable end.

She smoothed her dress with unsteady hands, pushed back her hair, and began to make her slow way to the door … until a warm, bright, teasing voice made her stop in her tracks.

"Just where do you think you're going?"

She looked over her shoulder and saw Tom Paris, with his arms open wide, wearing an enormous round helmet made of warp-core-blue plastic, with a transparent visor over his entire face. He looked like a cartoon character in one of his beloved 21th-century television shows. He was smiling.

"What the – "

"It's a Parrises Squares helmet," Tom explained, tapping the side of it with his knuckles. "Harry's been teaching me to play. Fire at will, Lieutenant. I'm ready."

It was so bizarre, so unexpected, after the rage and fear and heartbreak of only a moment ago, that B'Elanna doubled over with her hands on her knees and burst out into shrill, half-hysterical laughter. Tom joined in, grinning behind his visor, hours of tension between them exploding with one harmless puff of smoke.

Once they had both caught their breath again, B'Elanna sat down on a nearby sofa and patted the seat next to her, deeply relieved to still have that privilege. Tom settled down next to her with one elbow on the back of the sofa, leaning toward her with that intent, listening look he often had; as if she were a song he was learning by heart.

"I … I'm sorry, Tom," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have flipped out on you like that. You were right to get mad; I mean, making you wait for a whole hour … "

"Work is work," he replied, with a shrug. "I get that. It's not like … it's not like you were putting off our date on purpose, right?"

He laughed, but this time, there was a false note in his laughter she couldn't help but hear. He was not the only one learning how to listen. She sighed and moved a little closer, until her bare leg touched the fabric of his trousers. If admitting her own fears was the way to reassure him, so be it.

"If you must know," she said, in brusque, clipped tones to disguise her embarrassment, "I wasn't doing anything on purpose, but … subconsciously, I may have been stalling for time with those repairs because … because I was nervous, maybe."

"Nervous? You?" He raised an incredulous blond eyebrow at her, making her smile.

"Well, yes! First public date and all. I know what everyone on the ship must be thinking."

"And what are they thinking, B'Elanna?"

She cleared her throat and tossed her hair, imitating Lyndsay Ballard's husky drawl: "Tom Paris could get any girl he wanted. What's he doing with _her_?"

She blushed. In spite of the false voice, the insecurity behind that question sounded all too real. In response, Tom's smiling eyes became soft with sympathy, and he cupped her cheek in one warm hand to bring her face closer to his.

"What am I doing with you?" he repeated. "That's easy."

He took off his ridiculous helmet and set it on the coffee table, letting his hair stand up endearingly in all directions.

"Yes … ?"

"I," he whispered, his mouth only inches from hers. "Am having the time of my life."

He kissed her softly, wine and garlic on their breath from their dinner, her hands running through his already tousled hair while his hands slipped along the silk of her dress. As new as their relationship was, he already knew just how to kiss her, how to touch her until her nerves sang and her heart thundered in her ears. How did he know? What had she done to deserve someone so delightfully imperfect, and so very right for her?

All she knew, in this moment, was that he was staying – and that she had never been so thankful for anything in all her life.


	18. Everything Has Changed

Everything Has Changed

By Laura Schiller

Based on Star Trek: Voyager

Copyright: Paramount

"_All I know is we said hello,  
so dust off your highest hopes.  
All I know is pouring rain  
and everything has changed.  
All I know is a newfound grace;  
All my days, I'll know your face.  
All I know since yesterday is:  
Everything has changed."_

- "Everything Has Changed", by Taylor Swift

Maje Jabin's guest was not what Kes expected. When he had shoved her into the other man's tent with the order to _"make yourself useful and show him a good time"_, she had gone cold all over at the prospect of being mauled by one of her Kazon master's repulsive trading partners. The alien male rising hastily from his bedroll to greet her, however, was not so much repulsive as _funny_ – with his spotted face, curly side whiskers, and the wrinkle along his nose, he reminded her of nothing so much as the small, fluffy rodents that used to steal into her father's greenhouse. Even his clothes might have been spotted once, before long use had made the patterns fade to gray. If her split lip had allowed it, she would have smiled.

"Guiding Tree preserve me," said the stranger, blushing through his spots. "How did a lovely girl like you end up in a place like this?"

The words were commonplace, but the tone in which he said them caught her thoroughly off-guard. Ever since the first Kazon had caught her wandering in the desert, this man's were the first kind words she had heard. And there was more than kindness in that soft, hushed voice of his, in those wide blue eyes. She didn't recognize it as desire, either – at least not the way the Kazon showed desire. What was it?

She struggled for composure, to remember the bluff she had planned to use if ever she needed it. She drew herself up to her full, meager height (surprised to find the trader not much taller) and looked him full in the face, praying to the Caretaker for a bold and steady voice.

"I should warn you," she said. "I'm not as delicate as I look. I'm a telepath. Do you know what that means?"

He nodded.

"Lay one finger on me," she added, with her best imitation of Jabin's command snarl, "And I will reach into your mind, take your thoughts, and make you feel pain as you've never felt it before."

For a moment, the alien's eyes widened, with surprise more than fear. But he caught himself quickly and smiled at her.

"I'm sure you can," he said, "But if you're a telepath, then you should also know that I intend you no harm whatsoever. My name is Neelix. May I ask for yours?"

He held out a work-worn, spotted hand, asking for some greeting she did not know.

"Kes," she replied, and tentatively placed her hand in his.

He squeezed it gently, then let go. "Delighted to meet you, Kes."

She reached out with her sixth sense, trying to probe his thoughts. It had never worked on the Maje or any of his followers; even among Ocampa, the gift wasn't good for much except speaking over distances and occasionally sensing emotion. The legends of her ancestors, who could move objects with their minds and heal with a touch, had always fascinated her. Despite everything, she still held out hope that they might be true.

To her own shock, she did something – like a taste of honey, or the brush of cool rain against her sunburned face. A brief image of herself in an unfamiliar green jungle, clean and uninjured, flowers in her hair. Then another image of her naked in his arms, in what appeared to be a spaceship cabin with the stars streaming through the viewport.

She blushed, and seeing her expression, so did he.

"Oh! Oh dear. I'm terribly sorry, Ms. Kes, that was – that was uncalled for. I'm not used to having my mind read, you see."

She hurried to put up her mental shields, knowing well from her earliest lessons that feeling obliged _not_ to think of something inevitaby made you think of it.

"Well," she replied, rather awkwardly. "I _did_ sense that you're not planning to hurt me."

"Absolutely not," he assured her, with his hand over his heart.

"All the same, Mr. … Neelix? I really would prefer it if you didn't do what the Maje is expecting."

"Ah. About that … " He tapped the side of his nose and grinned at her, his eyes dancing like a mischievous schoolboy's. "I have an idea."

He moved back over to the bedroll and began to bounce on it, rustling the blankets and making the springs creak, breathing heavily like someone unused to physical exercise. He gestured for her to join him, still grinning. It took her a moment to realize what he was doing. Once she did, split lip and all, she could not prevent herself from bursting into giggles as she began to bounce along with him.

"Please - don't laugh," he whispered, in between fake gasps. "If they hear you – they'll lose respect for me!"

"Then what - "

Words failed her as this sweet, courteous, unthreatening man suddenly pulled a dagger out of his sleeve, frowned at her in determination … and pricked his own fingertip so that a drop of blood fell into the blanket.

The noise that came out of her throat, half a gasp and half a scream, might have been heard across half the camp.

"Yes_,_" he grunted, bouncing even higher. "Oh, that's good … that's perfect … oh, _yes!_"

He began to moan and groan theatrically, building up to a roar that made the tent walls billow and Kes nearly jump out of her skin.

"Are you insane?" she hissed under her breath, as they collapsed next to each other on the tangled bed. "What _was_ that?"

"Method acting, my dear," he whispered back, impossibly smug for someone who had just cut himself open. "That mangy _talchok _who calls himself your master will be highly impressed with my masculine prowess. He'll think twice about short-changing me next time."

The whole situation was so absurd that she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle any further bouts of hysterical laughter. Without fear or hesitation, she used her other hand to grab hold of his and examine the cut, just as she would have done to an Ocampa man.

"Never mind that."

"Make sure you clean it," she advised, landing on her mother's medical training as something familiar to steady her among all this strangeness. "The Maje's liquor will do, but if you have a real disinfectant - "

"I've had a lot worse," he said, looking amused and touched in equal measure by her concern. "Believe me. I'll be fine."

"Thank you, Neelix," she said. "You … you didn't have to do this. You don't even know me."

"I want to, though."

She realized, with some embarrassment, that she was still holding his hand – and, moreover, she did not want to let go. His other hand reached out to cover hers, warm and gentle, slightly damp from their exertions in the late afternoon heat. No one had touched her like this since … she could not remember when.

"I have to leave," he said regretfully. "Jabin will be suspicious."

Neither of them moved.

"May I see you again, Kes?"

Her mouth went dry, and for once, it was not because of the desert. A spark flashed from the hand he was holding, all the way through her body.

"If the Maje permits it," she said.

"To hell with the Maje." Neelix shook his bewhiskered head as if to dislodge a fly. "Do _you _permit it?"

She took a deep breath, leaned a little closer, and spoke the word that would change her life:

"Yes."

If she had thought his smile bright before, it was positively radiant now. He shone like the white walls of the Caretaker's temple, like a flower in bloom. Already, she could not imagine how she had ever found his face to be funny.

He raised her hand to his lips before letting go.

/

That night, she dreamed of rain. Not the measured drops from the irrigation system of the underground city where she had grown up, but rain as she imagined it: fat, sparkling, glorious streams of water pouring down her face. She opened her mouth and drank it, twirled in it, danced in it beneath the lush green leaves of a world she had never seen. Then someone caught her hand and spun her into his arms, and though she could not see his face clearly through the rain, she knew him. The sun broke out through the trees, catching in the gold of his hair. She ran her hands through it, and it was softer than the rain.

For the first time in many days, Kes woke up smiling.


	19. Red

Red

By Laura Schiller

Based on Star Trek: Voyager

Copyright: Paramount

"_Losing him was blue like I'd never known.  
Missing him was dark gray, all alone.  
Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody I'd never met …  
but loving him was red."  
_- "Red", by Taylor Swift

Seven of Nine remembers Axum at the oddest times and places.

Her Chakotay program is ready: candlelight, food ready to be cooked, the hologram waiting outside the door. A glance in the mirror, just to make sure her unbound hair is neat and her dress fits perfectly, and she falters. It's as if she had stepped four years back in time, back to Unimatrix Zero – a different room, a different man, but the same shade of red.

"_You look sweet in red,"_ she could hear Axum whisper, his arms around her waist, his breath against the back of her neck. _"Like those strawberries you showed me."_

She had made a handful of strawberries appear in the palm of her hand and watched him eat them, smiling at his expression of bliss. Things had been so easy in Unimatrix Zero; all you had to do was wish, and the wish came true.

If the real world worked that way, she wouldn't be in this holodeck right now.

Falling in love with Axum was like flying a shuttle too fast: the rush, the exhilaration, and then the heart-stopping crash when it was all over. Seven could not understand why the true story of their relationship had not come back until after she'd lost all her chances of seeing him again.

Their private list comes back to her when she stands at her station in Astrometrics, plotting _Voyager's_ course to places they will never see together. The Rokan Gorge on his homeworld, with its sparkling waterfalls and dazzling view. The fjords of Norway. The Reykjavik opera house. The double sunrise of Norcadia Prime. The Earth locations had been his idea, in spite of her protests. _"Your birthplace is a part of you, even if you deny it. The Borg can't take that away from you as long as you don't let them."_

They have, however, taken him. All she has left is her memories, which feel like far too much and not enough at the same time.

She remembers his strength, his authority among his fellow drones, putting Korok in his place and welcoming the frightened little boy. His wry smile as he freed her from the net, seeing right through her pretense that she had come looking for him due to the Klingon's concern instead of hers. Their last kiss, their last embrace as Unimatrix Zero fell in flames around them.

He had promised to find her. He should have known better than to make a promise he couldn't keep.


End file.
